


With Fur on Fire

by Maple



Series: Wolves of the Witch [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-26
Updated: 2011-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple/pseuds/Maple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend of Richie's is desperate for help.  His advice?  Contact Cassandra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Fur on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Not a true sequel to "Witch Wolves", but in the same universe and time-line.

“Richie, you gotta help me,” Kerry Dawe pleaded. She was on Richie’s doorstep, hugging her arms around her, peering intently into the apartment behind Richie.

“Kerry?” he asked, looking at her, surprised. Then he seemed to take in the state she was in, and he hurriedly opened his door wide and ushered her inside. “Come on, I’ll make…tea…or coffee…or something….”

“Thanks, Richie,” Kerry said. “I knew I could count on you.” She let herself be led into the small kitchenette and then sank into a chair.

“Once a sister, always a sister,” Richie said with a small smile, then he turned to rummage in his cupboards.

She wondered if he saw her as she was now—a petite woman with dirty dishwater blonde hair and too many freckles, or as the girl she had been, when her hair had been a true blonde, and she’d been much prettier and certainly less worn out. She reached her arms out and then pulled them back in, ashamed of being too-thin, and too dirty.

“Yeah,” Kerry said. “God, it’s been years.” She sighed. She and Richie had been foster kids together in the same home for a while, back when she’d been eight and Richie had been…maybe nine or ten. She didn’t remember exactly. They’d been close enough in age to get along, but different enough that Richie had been extremely bossy. She smiled, remembering how he’d been such a little dictator. Anyway, like Richie said, the bonds of foster kids in the same home were unbreakable—she knew he’d be there for her, if she needed him, when they’d grown up. And how they’d grown up. Kerry watched Richie searching his through his cabinets.

He’d definitely grown up into a cutie. Although when he’d opened the door she’d seen the hardness in his eyes. It made him seem old. Life hadn’t been good to him. Of course, life was very rarely good to foster kids. She knew from experience. Still, she’d thought maybe Richie would have made it—he’d had such a good humor about so much stuff.

He was thin himself, but it was a lean thin. He was all compact muscles and trim appearing, as if he worked out constantly. He still looked young—like he hadn’t yet been able to shake the baby-face he’d had as a kid, but his haircut was short and severe, making him seem older. And his eyes. His eyes looked like he’d seen enough to make him old before his time.

“Here we go,” Richie said, and pulled a tin out of the back of a cabinet. Instant coffee. “It’s all I have,” he said apologetically. He ran water into two mugs and put them in the microwave. Then he sat down in front of her. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years.”

Kerry looked down at the table. “It’s some stuff,” she began. Now that she was here, she was reluctant to tell Richie what had actually brought her. Getting here, that had been her only goal. A desperate goal, to be sure, and now that she was inside, she felt safer than she had in days. Talking about it would be like bringing it all back again. But she couldn’t avoid it forever. “I need some help. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“You can tell me,” Richie said. “I won’t nark on you.” He reached out across the table and took her hands in his and Kerry was surprised by how roughened and calloused they seemed. He must be doing some kind of construction work, she thought.

Kerry looked up at him, finally, and took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to start the conversation. The microwave dinged and Richie got up to retrieve the mugs and to spoon instant coffee into them. He pulled some sugar packets that had obviously come from a fast food place somewhere, and gave her a smile as he sat back down. “I don’t have milk. Sorry.”

“It’s hot, and sweet,” Kerry said. “And better than I’ve had for three days.”

Richie’s look turned worried. “Whatever it is, let me help,” he said. “Life gets weird sometimes. I know that.”

Kerry held onto the mug. The microwave had heated the water too hot to drink, and the mug was almost painful to the touch, but the sensation kept her grounded. “You can’t laugh,” she said.

“Promise,” Richie replied.

“Okay,” she said. “Don’t laugh,” she added again and Richie looked appropriately solemn, so she continued. “It all started a few months ago. I started having these weird dreams. Just ordinary stuff. But they started coming true.” She paused to search Richie’s face, but he wasn’t laughing.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like I’d dream about ordinary stuff. Finding a dollar in the gutter. The bus being late. That the cable would go out. And then other stuff.” She looked around as if someone else might be in the apartment with her. “The house fire on the next block. That the convenience store would get broken into. A car accident I would witness.” She hunched over the table to stare Richie directly in the eyes. “A couple times, I saw things and then they were in the news. A big bank robbery. A murder.” She shuddered.

Richie regarded her with concern, and he wasn’t laughing. “You’re probably psychic,” he said. “I’ve met a few people who’re that way. It’s pretty scary, but they seem to have figured out a way to deal with it, maybe you can too.”

Kerry shook her head. “No,” she said. “It got worse.”

“Worse?”

“I started seeing things when I was awake, too,” she said. “I’d know things a split second before they happened. That a girl would spill her coffee all across a table. When birds would take flight off a sidewalk. That a spotted dog would cross my path.”

“Your powers are getting stronger,” Richie said. “That’s scary stuff. Is it all the time? Or just sometimes?”

Kerry’s eyes filled with tears. “It comes and goes. I can sort of keep it down a little, if I sing songs in my head.” She sniffled. “At first it was exciting and fun, but it wouldn’t stop. I just kept seeing things, and then I couldn’t tell what was now and what was in the future, and I would act funny and people would look at me.”

Richie reached out across the table again. “Oh, Kerry,” he said as his hands enclosed hers. “We’ll find someone to help you. There are lots of people out there, somebody has to know what to do.”

“Then it got worse,” Kerry whispered through her tears. She was finally at the thing she didn’t want to talk about. But if she couldn’t tell Richie, then who could she tell? And if anyone could help her, he would.

“How?” Richie asked. His eyes were very blue and intense, Kerry suddenly realized. There was also something in them that made her realize that perhaps Richie would actually understand. She’d been running on adrenaline for three days now, and afraid of everyone and everything. She’d come here definitely intending to tell Richie about her visions of the future, but now she wanted to unburden herself of everything. If anyone could help her, if would be Richie, and she had nowhere else to turn. The future gaped in front of her—immense and solitary, and dangerous. She couldn’t do it alone. Not without help.

“I started to dream I was on fire,” Kerry said, studying his face as her words registered. “But it didn’t hurt. My skin burned away, and in its place I had fur, and I was transformed.”

“Whoa,” Richie breathed. “That’s some nightmare.”

“It wasn’t just a nightmare,” Kerry said. “It was real.”

“Real?” Richie looked startled and Kerry could suddenly see that he wanted to believe her, but that it was too big a thing to understand.

“Never mind,” she said, and put the mug down. “Thanks for the coffee.” Disappointment and despair crashed around her. Richie had been her only hope. Now all she wanted to do was get away from here.

“Wait,” Richie said, touching her shoulder. “Don’t go.”

They were standing at the kitchenette doorway. He put his hands on both her shoulders. “I believe you. You just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting that.” He stared directly into her eyes and didn’t blink. “I believe you.”

“Oh, Richie,” Kerry said, and started sobbing. He pulled her into an embrace and they stood that way for a long time.

After a while, Kerry found she didn’t have enough energy for more sobbing, and she was tired. Richie gave her an old afghan and a pillow and tucked her in on the couch.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll talk again later.”

Exhausted, Kerry dropped off to sleep almost instantly on the couch. It had been days since she’d felt safe enough to really sleep, and the emotional turmoil she’d been through had drained her of every last reserve. On the couch, even though it was too short for her and she had to lie at an angle, she felt cocooned.

For a long time, her sleep was dreamless. Then, her dreams began to emerge. She dreamed of moving through the city, the people around her flowing like a river, and she dreamed of moving out of the city. In the dream, it went from skyscrapers to trees seamlessly, and she was moving stealthily through an everglade forest. A distant howling caught her attention, but she wasn’t afraid. She leaned forward, eager to catch more of the sound, and she hurried after it. The more she hurried, the more she leaned, until finally she fell on all fours, and ran, her skin dissolving away in flames, though the fire didn’t hurt. All that remained was what existed below her human skin, that of thick fur, and suddenly the forest burst into scent. The howling was clear, and she could tell the direction—so she ran. And ran, and ran, and ran.

“Kerry?”

Kerry turned her head and saw Richie. He was pressed against the wall, and a sword was in his hand. Afraid, she took a step back, and realized as she moved that it had happened again.

She could smell fear oozing off him, and a tang of brazen heroism. His eyes were wide, and he was braced against the wall as if it could lend him strength.

“Kerry?” he asked again.

She tried to speak but it came out as a series of growls and snarls, and she could see that he didn’t understand. The sword inched up. She took another step backward.

“If that’s you,” Richie said, swallowing hard. “Sit down.”

Kerry sat, and the smell of Richie’s relief swamped her nose.

“Hell,” he said. “You weren’t kidding. I can see why you were so upset.” He slid down the wall, the sword sliding away to the side, within reach but no longer threatening. “How long does it last?”

Kerry closed her eyes and wagged her head. She never knew. Once it had last for days on end, and she’d hidden in a basement beneath a pile of old blankets. Another time, it had lasted an hour, and not a minute more.

Richie stared at her. “I’ll wait here with you. As long as I have to,” he said, and Kerry thought she’d never heard words quite as welcome as those.

After a while of just staring at each other, Richie got up, taking his sword with him, and went to putter in the kitchen. “Give a shout if you need me, I’ll be right in here,” he said.

After a few minutes, Kerry could smell food being cooked—bacon for sure, as the scent of it overwhelmed her—and she imagined herself trying to eat it from a bowl on the flood, like a pet, and the thought of it disgusted her. The revulsion seemed to trigger something in her and she gasped as the molten feeling flowed over her fur, up through her spine and out through her finger tips, and she found she was herself again.

She quickly snatched at her clothes and set them to rights—they were becoming something well more than ragged by now. She seemed to shed them whenever she turned into the…werewolf? Wolf? Whatever, it wasn’t an important distinction. The collar and sleeves were all stretched out, and she’d learned to wear baggy sweatpants instead of jeans. Jeans weren’t wearable afterward. Even, still, they tended to get clawed up. She checked herself over. She could do with some new clothes. Maybe Richie would lend her a few dollars so she could go to a second hand store, or to Goodwill.

Tentatively Kerry peered around the doorframe and into the kitchen. Richie was poking at the bacon in a frying pan. He glanced over to her and smiled.

“You’re back,” he said, then shook his head. “Well, that was still you before, right? So I guess, maybe not, you’re back, but you’re human?”

Kerry nodded and came closer. “You had a sword,” she said. She didn’t want to talk about what just happened, not really. What was there to say? But she’d seen the sword. It was an odd thing for somebody to have. A gun made sense. Lots of people had guns.

“Yeah,” Richie said, and then, almost as if picking up on her thoughts. “It’s quieter than a gun. A guy’s gotta have some protection, you know?”

Kerry nodded.

“That was you,” he asked, “on the inside?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s still me, even when I’m like that.”

Richie gave her a grim smile and turned back to cooking for a few minutes. “Bacon is done,” Richie finally announced, and used a fork to move it all onto a plate with paper napkins. Then he cracked four eggs and fried them in the bacon grease. “I bet you’re hungry.”

“Like a wolf,” Kerry said, surprised at herself for the humor. She laughed, and Richie threw her a quick look, concerned, and then brightened and laughed himself.

“I guess you gotta laugh,” he said. When the eggs were ready, he served them up. “Sorry I don’t have juice or anything. I don’t have a lot at the moment.”

Kerry had realized that. Calling the apartment low-rent was doing it a favor, and everything inside it looked like it had been picked up at the side of the road. “That makes two of us,” she said. At the moment, she didn’t even have clothes without holes.

The bacon was as good as it had smelled, and the eggs were a treat. Kerry couldn’t remember the last time she’d had solid food. She could have eaten twice as much as Richie had provided, but she didn’t want to eat all his food. For all she knew, she’d just eaten his reserves for the week. Not full, but feeling so much better, Kerry leaned back in her chair and patted her stomach.

“Richie, thank you,” she said.

“I thought we could both use some food. I haven’t exactly been eating on a regular schedule myself,” he said, and Kerry nodded, having already noticed that he did look rather gaunt. He leaned forward. “What do you think is going on for you?”

“I don’t know.” Kerry’s emotions came to the surface in a rush and she was instantly close to tears. “I wish I knew. It just started happening.”

“Recently?” Richie asked. “Like how a superhero gets his powers?”

Kerry giggled. “I don’t think so. I haven’t done anything like get bit by a spider or…whatever.” She couldn’t really remember how superheroes got their powers. “I mean…I’ve always sort of had good intuition, you know? But never like this.”

Richie looked thoughtful. “I remember as kids, you always knew when we had to go home—when the adults were looking for us. My friends and I would bring you along just because you’d always know how far we could push it without getting in trouble.” He rubbed his chin. “Funny. I haven’t thought about that for a long time.”

“That’s a long way from…from what my problem is now,” Kerry said. She found she couldn’t bear to say the words. If she didn’t acknowledge the problem, perhaps it would just resolve itself and go away. It hadn’t yet, though…which was why she was here with Richie. He had been her only hope—the last friend she could call on.

“I think I know someone to call and ask,” Richie said. “It’s this woman I know about. She could help you. But….” Richie shrugged. “I don’t know where she is, so I’ve got to go to somebody else and ask him how to find her. And he’s going to want to know why. Nobody calls up this lady unless you got to.”

“You can’t tell!” Kerry said, but she latched on to the hopeful feeling that stirred inside her. “A woman?” she asked. But the rest of what Richie said put her on warning. “She’s dangerous?”

Richie blew out a lungful of air. “She can be. But can’t we all? It’s complicated. And I don’t actually know her…it’s more that I know _of_ her. But I might be able to get her to come here.”

Kerry narrowed her eyes. “What’s her name? Who is she? How’s she supposed to help?”

“Cassandra,” Richie said.

Kerry frowned, suddenly suspicious. Richie didn’t seem to trust this woman he mentioned, and he didn’t even seem to like her. “Why?” she asked. “Why her?”

Richie hesitated, and searched Kerry’s face for a moment. “She has visions,” he said. “As far as I know, she’s the real deal. If anyone can help you, it’d be someone who’s already gone through it. And she’s got a lot of experience. Years.”

Kerry took the information in. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a possibility. She liked that Richie didn’t just assume that this was the answer. “So, that’s why you thought of her?”

“Yeah. I know a lot of people who’d be willing to help, but they can’t. Not with something this….”

Kerry pulled back, hating the mention of whatever she was going through.

“Do you want me to see if I can track her down?” Richie offered. “Like I said, she’s a friend of a friend. She might not even be willing to help. I hear she’s a bit...lofty,” he said, finally settling on a word.

Kerry nodded. “Hurry,” she said. “Before it happens again.

Richie retreated to the living room to place his phone call, and Kerry stayed at the kitchen table. She’d had days and days to think about what was happening. Of course, she’d first thought of werewolves. But she hadn’t been bitten or scratched, or anything. Besides, what did she know about werewolves? Only what she saw in the movies, and that couldn’t be any closer to the truth than things entirely made up. She’d even gone to the library and looked for information—it had been useless. Fiction stories and folklore, nothing that helped her out whatsoever. Maybe even if this Cassandra couldn’t help her, maybe she knew someone who could.

Kerry tilted her head. She could hear Richie’s conversation, even though it was as soft as a whisper. That was interesting.

“Hey, Joe. Yeah. I got a problem and I need some help. No, not him. Someone else. Look, I can’t tell you everything. But I need to contact Cassandra.” Kerry could hear the jump in Richie’s voice when he said her name. “I guess I am kinda dumb at that,” Richie admitted, “but I still need to contact her. It’s important. I swear. No, really. Super important. Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.” There was a long pause and although Kerry couldn’t hear the words, she could hear the tone of voice of the man on the other side of the phone. He was not at all pleased and had launched into a lecture. “I know all that, Joe. I’d go to Mac, but he’s not real happy with me right now, and this isn’t that kind of a problem. Look, I just need a mailing address. I’ll write her a letter. Please, Joe.” There was an even longer pause, and then Richie said, “Thank you, Joe. I owe you big time. Hold on, I need to find a pen.” He scratched down a number. “Thanks a lot, Joe. I owe you.”

Richie hung up the phone and then poked his head back into the kitchen. “I’ve got the number!” he said, waving the scrap of paper. “Do you want to call her?”

“But I don’t know her,” Kerry protested.

“Heck, I don’t know her, either,” Richie said. “But she definitely likes women better than men. You’d have a better chance. Plus, you can answer whatever questions she’s got.”

Kerry considered it. She hated to call a person she didn’t know to ask for their help on something like this—probably Cassandra wouldn’t even believe her. But it was her only hope at the moment. “Okay,” she said in a small voice.

Richie handed over the slip of paper and Kerry squinted at it. “How do I call this?”

“It’s international,” Richie explained.

Kerry gasped. “Oh, no. I don’t have the money—“

“Don’t worry about the charges,” Richie said. “Let me take care of that. Just call. Here, I’ll dial.” He grabbed the paper and hit the buttons, and handed the receiver to Kerry.

Numbly, Kerry clutched at the phone, heard it ringing. “Does she have a last name?” she asked.

Richie shrugged. “If she does, I don’t know it.”

The ringing stopped as the line was picked up. “Hello?” The woman who answered the phone had an imperious voice, but it wasn’t unkind. She also had an accent, something very posh.

“Um, hello. May I speak to Cassandra, please?” Kerry asked, squeaking a little.

“I am Cassandra,” the woman said, her tone turning wary. Being on an international line was a little odd, too, as there were long pauses between the sound being carried over.

“My name is Kerry Dawe. I got your number through a friend. He told me…he thought you could help me. I’ve been having….” Kerry tightened her grip on the phone. “I can see things,” she whispered desperately.

There was a long pause on the other side of the line. “Kerry?” Cassandra asked. “What sort of things?”

“Things that haven’t happened yet,” Kerry whispered. “Can you help? I don’t know how to make it stop. I really want it to stop. Please.”

Again there was a long pause. “I don’t take kindly to being put upon,” Cassandra warned.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Kerry said. “Really. And—“ She swallowed. “And I have another problem.”

“Yes, what is it?” Cassandra asked, her voice coming across as tired of the conversation. But she hadn’t hung up yet.

“I dream of being on fire,” Kerry said, and then her words came out all in a rush. “Of my skin burning away, and leaving fur behind, and then I am running through the woods, and the wolves are howling, and I run to join them. And then I wake up, and I am one of them.” She stopped, breathless, then repeated the last part again. “I am one of them.”

This time Cassandra’s voice was not bored or reluctant. He sounded concerned, interested even. “Where are you, Kerry? I can help you. Who told you to call me?”

“Seacouver,” Kerry said. She glanced at Richie and he gave her a stiff nod. “Richie Ryan—he’s the friend—he said you could help me.”

“I might have known,” Cassandra said. “Listen to me, Kerry. Stay there with him. I’ll need his address, also. It will take me a while to find a flight, and to pack. But I should be there within a few days. Can you stay with Richie until then?”

“Yes,” Kerry said, and gave Richie’s apartment address. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” Cassandra said soothingly. “Everything will be all right.” She hung up.

Kerry turned to see Richie staring at her. “She’s coming. Here.”

Richie stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Good,” he said, but she could see he was worried, still. “Now, how about you take a shower while I go out to get something for us to eat for the next few days.” He waved his hand at the apartment. “Make yourself at home.”

“I would just about kill for a shower,” Kerry admitted. She gave him a hug. “Thank you, Richie.”

He hugged her back. “No problem, kiddo.”

The next few days were quiet. Kerry slept on the couch, feeling safer and more confident each day. She didn’t have the wolf nightmare again, and staying inside Richie’s apartment with the daytime television turned off meant that she didn’t have too many moments where she confused the future with the present.

Richie spent long hours out of the apartment, jogging, or doing whatever it was he did. Kerry thought he’d had a job, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He brought home food, and they watched rerun sit-coms in the evenings, and laughed and talked. Kerry thought she might actually be able to have a normal life again at some point.

She tried to help by cleaning up Richie’s apartment. She stayed out of his bedroom—that was his personal, private space. But she thought that if she could just help a little, that it would be repayment for all the help he was giving her. At least, that was until she found the knives.

Richie seemed to have a penchant for hiding knives in various places in his apartment. Still in their sheaths, they were taped under things and hidden between stacks of books. She remembered the sword, and decided whatever Richie’s problems were, if he needed her help, he would ask. Until then, she knew nothing at all, and as far as she was concerned, there were no knives, and no sword.

One night, during a commercial between a cartoon and a sit-com, she’d touched his hand. “You’ve been a true friend, Richie. I can’t ever thank you enough.”

“No problem,” Richie had said. “You’re my little sister, after all.”

She’d smiled. “If you ever need me to help you….”

“Thank you,” he’d said. “I appreciate that.”

After that, however, Kerry stopped trying to clean _everything_ and just stuck with the big items, like the stove, refrigerator, and the floors and windows.

Two days later, Richie shook her awake. “She’s here,” he said, staring at the door.

“What?” Kerry asked, trying to waking up through the layers of her dreams. A knock came at the door and she jolted awake, finally.

“Cassandra,” Richie whispered. “She’s here.”

The knock came again.

Kerry glanced at her watch. It was only a little after ten o’clock. Not late at all, they’d just been asleep early.

Richie went to the door. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s me. Cassandra,” came the reply. “I’ve come as asked, Richard.”

Richie put his forehead against the door, then unchained and unlocked it. He opened it wide, keeping out of the way.

Kerry clutched the afghan to herself, her heart beating so loud it sounded in her ears. Her small sabbatical, hiding in Richie’s apartment, was over.

A beautiful woman stood there, with auburn-brown hair and eyes that seemed to take everything in. Most stunning of all was the aura around the woman. Kerry could see it as clearly as she could see the woman herself. “A white wolf,” Kerry whispered to herself.

The woman’s face lost its serene, expectant look and expanded into a smile. “And you’re a slate gray one, my dear.” She held out her arms and Kerry rushed to fold herself into them, feeling as if she’d finally found her home.

Cassandra closed her arms around Kerry. “Oh, my dear,” she said, “I almost didn’t come. But thank goodness I did. You’re the most precious thing I’ve found in four hundred years.”

Kerry pulled back to look Cassandra in the face. “Four hundred?”

Cassandra brushed the question aside. “Will you come home with me?”

Kerry glanced quickly at Richie. Everything inside her wanted to say yes, but she hesitated. “Richie?”

He nodded, looking thoughtful. “Go,” he said. “I think you need to go.” He narrowed his eyes at Cassandra. “Just because you’re older and more experienced—“

“I will protect her, I promise,” Cassandra said, dismissing his words. “Kerry?”

“Oh, yes,” Kerry said. “Yes.”

Cassandra sighed, and it was a happy, satisfied sound. It echoed the feeling in Kerry, right down to the last decibel.


End file.
